


May All Your Christmases Be White

by Caitlincheri28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Dark Magic, F/M, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Mutual Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Potions, Tragedy, White Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitlincheri28/pseuds/Caitlincheri28
Summary: Draco is lost in grief over the death of his mother.If only there was a way to bring her back and enjoy the sweet melody of their favourite Christmas song once more...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 49
Kudos: 59
Collections: Twistmas 2020 - A Dark Remix Xmas Fest





	May All Your Christmases Be White

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Twistmas2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Twistmas2020) collection. 



> PLOT SPOILER TRIGGER WARNINGS AT BOTTOM PAGE A/N!  
> Take care of yourselves, friends.  
> NO RAPE OR NON/CON. 
> 
> This is my first time participating in festival and I absolutely loved it. 
> 
> All the thanks in the world to my alphabet, WhatSoMalfoy and MissyJAnne85. And a huge thank you to Mimifreed for awesome beta skills! I couldn't have done this without you wonderful humans. 
> 
> Black and White Artwork was done by the brilliant LumosLyra. 
> 
> Gorgeous Moodboard done by my beautiful friend Butterflies&Shit
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> White Christmas

Outside, it was snowing. 

White fluffy flakes gently fell from a darkened sky, landing softly on the grassy hills. Each snowflake was pristine and pure, floating down from the heavens like tiny angels; bringing hope and beauty. Crisp cold air caressed Draco’s face, and the blanket of white that now settled over the distant hills created a peaceful silence. Draco took a deep breath and lifted his head towards the sky, allowing the snowflakes to delicately kiss his face. Each snowflake whispering a reminder of happier times.    
  
He loved the first snowfall. 

Every year his mother would find him to tell him of the first snow. The time and place wasn't important. If he had been sleeping, she would slip into his room and gently wake him with a soft kiss on his forehead. 

_ Draco, it’s snowing. _

She would wrap him up in a fuzzy blanket and they would sneak to the drawing room hand in hand, where they could watch the snow fall from behind the giant, frosty windows. House elves would quietly bring them hot chocolate, and sitting in silence, they would watch as the blanket of white formed across the land. After a while, Narcissa would wrap her arms around her son, snuggling close and softly start to sing. 

_ I’m dreaming of a White Christmas _

_ Just like the ones I used to know… _

Draco would gently drift, safe in the arms of his mother, lulled to sleep by the beauty of her voice. 

He lived for these moments. Even during the war when Draco was no longer a child, his mother made sure to sing to her baby while the grounds turned white. 

Of course, the sweet memories were now tainted with heartache.

This would be Draco’s second Christmas since the war, and the first without his mother. Narcissa was hit with a rogue curse during the final battle. It was slow acting and went undetected for many months. It started as random headaches, progressively getting worse, to the point she was taking sleeping draughts every few hours to sleep through the pain. The healer said that her brain was deteriorating. By the end, Narcissa was a shell of who she once was. Draco’s memories were forever burned and tormented with images of her last few days. He never left her side, clinging to her hand as she clung to her life. He made sure the curtains stayed open in her rooms, hoping the wintery world outside would bring her peace. As he stroked her hair he would softly sing the words of their special melody. Draco would never forget how the moon light reflected off of the shimmering white grounds, blanketing the dark room in an ethereal glow. His mother, the angel. She died the day after Christmas. 

When she took her final breath, it started to snow. 

Wiping a tear from his cheek, Draco decided to drag himself back inside. Whisky and nightmares beckoned him, promising a night of inescapable heartache and terror. He hated living at the manor, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He was attached to the memories of his mother, even if they were shadowed with pain. The manor was bleak and quiet nowadays—the only time a glimmer of light danced through the tainted halls was when Hermione would come by for a visit. 

Draco poured himself a glass of firewhisky, relishing in the familiar burn as it slid down his throat. To say he missed his mother would be an understatement. He was desperate to see her again. He didn’t get enough time with her, and her death was torturous and unfair.    
  
Draco knew  _ he _ had to answer for his choices—just as his father had.    
  
But her? Narcissa was an angel caught on the wrong side with the wrong people. She never supported The Dark Lord, but what choice did she have? Forced to marry a weak and cowardly man, and live her life as his silent, dutiful trophy. But Narcissa was not weak. When it truly mattered, she stood up to injustice. She lied to The Dark Lord, knowing that he could end her with a flick of his wand. Her love and devotion for Draco carried her through every calculated decision she made. She saved Harry Potter and helped win the war. 

The fact that _ SHE _ had to pay for the crimes of her family was something Draco could not reason with. 

Draco had a secret plan. It was something that he clung to deeply, offering him comfort in the dead of the night. Back when his house was haunted by the looming shadows of men in hooded cloaks with slithering tattoos, there were quiet whispers of a potion that could bring back the dead. He remembered his father murmuring to Pansy’s father about it when The Dark Lord was still an emerging dream. 

From what Draco heard, the potion would  _ “allow the drinker’s loved one to return”.  _ One sip, and his mother would be home with him again -just in time for Christmas. He would make her hot chocolate and she would stroke his hair and sing White Christmas as the snow fell. It would be perfect. 

And all he needed to do was find the ancient book that held the recipe. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Draco? What are you doing here?” asked Theo. He stood in the doorway of Nott manor in his pajamas, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and carding a hand through his pillow  tousled hair. He also looked like he had seen the bottom of a bottle of Firewhiskey the night before. 

Draco hadn’t expected an interrogation. “I need to search your library.”

“Why? Your library has everything mine has and then some.” 

Draco sighed in irritation. “I need to look through your father’s...hidden selection of books.” 

Narrowing his eyes and answering in a tone laced with suspicion, Theo responded, “That room has been locked since the war ended. There is nothing in there but dark magic and promises of doom, Draco. Whatever you are looking for, you won’t find it in that pit of despair.” 

Draco shifted on his feet. He knew Theo had strong feelings about the dark books and artifacts his father left behind. He wanted to tell him what his plans were, but he  _ knew  _ everyone in his life would try and talk him out of it. He didn’t need the negativity, especially when he could feel down to a cellular level in his blood that this would work. 

“ _ Please, _ Theo.” Draco could hear the desperation dripping from his voice as he begged. He may be prideful, but when it came to his mother, he would do anything.

Theo slowly stepped aside and flung his arm in a dramatic gesture, beckoning Draco inside. 

“What’s mine is yours,” he sighed, “just promise me you aren’t doing something idiotic.” 

Rolling his eyes, Draco drawled “I am  _ never _ idiotic.”

He decided to ignore the sarcastic snort from Theo as he marched towards the library. 

\---------------------------------------------

It took Draco thirty minutes to break down the wards that kept the small room, in a forgotten corner of the library hidden. The room was small and circular—large lanterns mounted to the dark stone walls magically lit when Draco walked through the door, illuminating the room in an orange glow. He could smell the old parchment of the hundreds of tomes that were housed on the shelves. Theo was right, the room seeped with a dark, foreboding magic. The blackness crashed over him like waves, bringing back terrifying memories. Draco wanted to avoid being transported back to the days of red eyes and constant echoes of _ Cruciatus  _ screams, but he knew he had to persevere. 

Draco set to work quickly and efficiently. He really had no idea what he was looking for. He knew his father had mentioned an ancient book. He assumed it would be a book of potions, but it could also be a book about love spells, death spells, or any sort of resurrection magic. Most of the books were  _ heavy  _ and he realized it would take hours to flip through the dusty pages. 

He wanted to find this potion before Christmas, but even he knew that would be a daunting task. He would need to figure out a different approach. He had fourteen days before Christmas Eve, and the sooner he found it the better because he wasn’t sure what ingredients he would need or how long it needed to brew— he hoped not long. 

After hours of flipping through pages, earning an impressive amount of paper cuts, Draco slammed a particularly large book closed in frustration. Waving and coughing through the cloud of dust, he felt the hopelessness start to drift in. This was far too much to try and accomplish alone. His only real solution would be to enlist the help of his friends, but how could he explain what he was looking for and why?    
  
No. He would have to figure this task out on his own, like he had everything else in his life.

\------------------------------------------------

Draco sat in his favorite armchair, sipping on a glass of Firewhisky while pondering where else he could look for this book. A warm fire crackled across from him, and the smell of fresh pine filled his senses. The elves had really outdone themselves with the Christmas decorations this year. A beautiful, fresh cut Noble stood tall, adorned with white twinkling lights and green ornaments with a silver star on top. It was positioned in front of the tall windows, the snowy grounds creating the perfect backdrop for the majestic tree. 

Glancing at the clock, he realized how late it was getting. Hermione was supposed to arrive over an hour ago. It had been a few days since Draco had seen Hermione. The Ministry kept her busy, especially around the holidays.    
  
He still couldn’t believe that he was planning to propose to her at Christmas this year, and if everything went according to plan, his mother would get to witness the event. 

After the war, Draco and Hermione found themselves forming a strange friendship. At the trials, she and Potter spoke on their behalf. Harry told the epic story of how a mother’s love saved him— and the entire wizarding world— for the second time. Hermione spoke of their time at the manor - how Draco knew exactly who they were, but refused to identify them. She spoke about torment and tourture. Her firm belief that logically Draco would have experienced and been subjected to the same treatment, simply by living in that house. His actions were fueled by ensuring his mothers survival. Draco was robbed of his childhood due to the choices of his father -- and Hermione believed he never stood a chance. To go against his family, the Death Eaters, The Dark Lord— it would have been suicide. 

Draco was completely shocked. After the trials, he approached Hermione and asked if there was a way he could make amends for the years of torment she received from him. Of course, he knew it was a stretch. Sure, she may have felt a moral obligation to keep him from Azkaban, but she had no reason to grant him friendship. He had been cruel to her. And even worse than that, he was a coward who stood and watched as his aunt tortured her and carved a slur into her arm. However, to his utter astonishment her kind brown eyes held the promise of a new beginning, and Draco truly wanted to know the girl who refused to break on his drawing room floor. 

Hermione started spending Saturday afternoons at the manor with him and Narcissa. She would come for tea in the library and spend hours searching through their books. Draco lived for those afternoons where they would fall into a comfortable silence whilst reading together. They sat in opposite chairs; Hermione curled up with her feet tucked under herself, oblivious to his silent observation of her and completely enraptured in whatever book she was reading that day. Her hair, curly as ever, sat in a messy bun atop her head, and she furrowed her brow as she became part of the story herself. Draco started to realise that he had never seen a person so pure and beautiful. He much preferred watching her read than to actually read himself. 

She was there for him as Narcissa’s health began to decline. Towards the end, Hermione was coming almost every day. She would bring his favorite muggle take-away and sit with him as the waves of emotion washed over his body. She held his hand as White Christmas played on the record player, as he cried over the Christmases his mother would never see. 

In the days after Narcissa died, Hermione never left Draco’s side. She helped with the funeral arrangements and comforted Draco in whatever way he needed in the moment.

One stormy night in late January, Hermione sat huddled on the plush loveseat in the library sipping her tea. Draco watched from the opposite chair as she crinkled her nose at whatever was happening in her book.

Feeling his stare, Hermione glanced up from her book and gave a small smile. “Are you okay?” 

He didn’t have the words to express the longing he felt in his soul. He wanted to say how much the last few months had meant to him. He wanted to tell her of how her warmth and light had saved him from himself. That without her, his life would be empty and cold. But he couldn’t say any of that because he didn’t deserve to feel this way. She was Hermione Granger. Golden Girl with a soul made of compassion, and sunshine, and all the things that he could never be. 

Draco nodded, trying to hide the pain and longing in his eyes. As he glanced back down to his book, Hermione stood and slowly walked towards him. He watched as she tentatively stopped in front of his chair, rocking on her heels and staring down at him with her kind eyes. 

“Draco, you know it’s okay to not feel okay, don’t you?” 

If only she knew just how not okay he felt. “I know, Granger.” 

She reached out and gently placed her hand on his. Draco immediately flinched and tried to pull away, but she curled her soft fingers around his wrist and held tight. 

Leaning down to meet him face to face, she said, “You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to pull away from me, Draco. You are not Icarus and I am not the sun. Your wings will not melt if you touch me.” She inched her face closer, until she was no more than a breath away, “in fact, it is my goal to help you spread your wings and become the man I know you were born to be.” 

She closed the distance and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

After that night, Draco knew that Hermione was it for him. She completed him in a way no one else could. She set his soul on fire and made him want to be a better man. 

He picked out the perfect engagement ring for her two months later. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

The roar of the Floo pulled Draco from his romantic musings. Hermione walked in, pulling off her coat and setting it across the back of the couch. She planted a quick kiss on Draco’s forehead, then plopped down on the chair next to him, sighing heavily. 

Draco smirked, “Rough day?”

Sighing again, Hermione said, “No, not really. It was just long... I spent the day chasing Kingsley around and I didn’t even get a chance to eat lunch.”

“Should I send for dinner?” Draco asked, already knowing the elves had made her favourite that night. 

She perked up with an enthusiastic nod, “That sounds amazing!”

“Nibsy!” Draco called. With a sudden pop, a small elf in a purple dress appeared. “Please bring two plates of the pork tenderloin and a bottle of merlot.”

“Yes, sir!” With a pop, Nibsy was gone. 

Setting down his glass, Draco stole a glance over at Hermione. She looked rather dishevelled; her hair no longer contained in the low bun, curls escaping in every direction. Her blouse was wrinkled and he could see the smallest bit of creamy skin peeking through the snag in her stockings. She had her eyes closed as she took a minute to rest, her cheeks slightly flushed. Her legs stuck straight out as she sat low in the armchair. 

Draco had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. 

He stood from his chair and knelt down in front of Hermione. Taking her right foot in his hand, he slowly slid off her black boot, and Hermione opened one eye sceptically. 

Draco began to slowly massage the delicate arch. “Granger, you work too hard.” 

Huffing, Hermione sat up. “No, I work just the right amount. Everyone else is simply slacking.” 

Lifting her foot to his lips, he placed a soft kiss on her inner ankle. “That may be so, but you still work too hard.” He placed her right foot down and slipped off the left boot. 

The loud “pop” of apparition signalled that their dinner had arrived, and Hermione pulled her foot away, not wanting to waste another moment before diving into her meal.

As they ate, Draco’s thoughts started to shift to how wonderful it would be that in just a few weeks his mother would be here enjoying dinner with them. In between bites of tender pork and sips of wine, Hermione spoke animatedly about her plans regarding werewolf reform. Draco loved how her eyes sparkled with pure joy as she talked about the things that excited her. He knew his mother would be ecstatic for them. She had known that Draco had been in love with Hermione long before he did. 

_ Draco sat in front of his fireplace, flipping through a book that Hermione had said was a “muggle classic”. It was the end of October, and Draco needed a brief escape from the reality of his mother’s health. He hadn’t given up hope, but the healer told him today that Narcissa would continue to worsen, and there had been no headway in finding a cure.  _

_ A quiet voice interrupted his reading.  _

_ “Where is Hermione this evening?” _

_ Quickly closing his book, Draco rushed to his mother’s side as she leaned against the doorframe for support.  _

_ “Mother, what are you doing up?” Draco led her slowly to his chair and helped her to sit. Making sure she was okay, he sighed, “Granger is celebrating Molly Weasley’s birthday tonight.” He flopped down on the footrest in front of his mother.  _

_ Narcissa hummed softly, “You didn’t want to go?”  _

_ Choking back a laugh, he replied, “I hardly think I would be welcome at  _ that  _ party, Mother.”  _

_ Reaching over to grab his hand, Narcissa smiled, “I think you’d be surprised, Draco. You aren’t at Hogwarts anymore. Hermione is a brilliant and compassionate Witch, and I truly believe everyone is ready to move on.”  _

_ Draco looked down to his feet and murmured, “Not from me, they’re not.”  _

_ Narcissa tucked a finger under his chin, gently lifting it to force his gaze upon her, "My darling boy, you won't know unless you try. And you should give Hermione a little credit." She sighed, pulling her hand from under his chin to comb lightly through his hair. "I wish you could see what I see." _

As they finished dinner, Draco felt a new sense of hope. Pushing away his plate, he stood and turned on his record player. The melody of White Christmas filled the room as he held a hand out to Hermione. 

“Dance with me, Granger,” he asked, his heart bursting with anticipation. 

Hermione smiled as she took his hand. He pulled her close as she lifted her arms around his neck. Swaying gently together, he nuzzled into her hair and whispered along with the music. 

“...and may all your Christmases be white.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------

“Draco, we’re going to be late!” Hermione flitted around Draco’s room, frantically looking for her other shoe. 

Spotting it next to his night stand, he gently kicked it in her general direction. 

“I am  _ never _ late, Granger. Everyone else is simply early.” Draco slipped into his dark grey blazer and smirked. “With how much you seemed to enjoy the last forty-five minutes, showing up a few minutes “late” seems worth it.”

If looks could kill, Draco would have been done in by Hermione’s glare. 

It had been nine days since Draco started really looking for the ancient potion book, and so far he had found nothing. After searching through every shelf and nook in Nott’s library and coming up empty handed, Draco took a trip to Knockturn Alley. 

Even in the darkest corners of  _ Borgin and Burkes _ , the book he needed could not be found. 

Draco’s efforts were beginning to feel futile. It was now December eighteenth, and he only had six more days to both find and brew the potion he needed to bring his mother back by Christmas. He was going to cancel on Hermione tonight, but he remembered that Potter lived in the Black family home. He figured taking a look through the library couldn’t hurt, plus he wasn’t about to get on Hermione’s bad side a week before Christmas.

After shoving her foot into her ballet flat, Hermione yanked Draco by the arm and led them to the fireplace, and within a few moments, he was stepping into the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld place. 

\------------------------------------------------------

Draco had been skimming through the Black family library for about an hour, having slipped away shortly after dinner. He was relaxing in a large armchair, flipping through a particularly dusty book when a very tipsy Hermione came crashing through the doorway. 

“Draco! Why are you hiding up here?” She stumbled over and threw herself into his lap. Straddling his legs and nuzzling into his chest, she murmured, “I have been looking for you for  _ hours.”  _

Kissing the top of her head, he replied “You were having fun with your friends. I decided to see what sort of light reading existed in my ancestral home.” 

She scoffed. “ _ our _ friends. And I am sure you could just ask Harry. He wouldn’t mind you coming over during normal business hours, you know.” She shifted ever so slightly on his lap, smirking. “Did you come up here hoping I would find you, Draco?” 

Draco couldn’t help but find Hermione adorable and intoxicating. He moved his hands down her sides, finding her hips and grabbing tightly. Gently rocking her forward, he captured her lips in a deep kiss. She tasted like red wine, chocolate mousse, and all things wonderful. Pulling away, he laughed, “Is this one of the fantasies you refuse to tell me about, Granger? Sex in a library? You know I already know about  _ that  _ one.” 

Grinding her hips against him harder, Hermione trailed slow and lingering kisses down Draco’s jaw. In between kisses she murmured, “If I didn’t need to tell you, then why hasn’t it happened yet? You have quite the sizable library at the manor, you know.”

Groaning, Draco gently pushed Hermione back and looked into her eyes; dark eyelashes blinking over golden brown pools, full of want.

“Give me fifteen minutes and I will introduce you to every inch of my library, Granger.” 

Hermione pouted her lower lip and moved her hips forward again. 

Brushing her hair out of her face, Draco laughed. “I am pretty sure Potter already sent the search party out for us.” 

Sighing, Hermione climbed off Draco. He caught her arm as she stumbled. Glancing down at him she pouted, “Fine. We’re going to go say goodnight to  _ our _ friends, and then you are taking me back to your library and shagging me until the sun comes up.” 

“Bossy.” He smirked. “Okay, Granger. Lead the way.” 

Draco tried to push away the knot that currently resided in his stomach. This was another dead end. He was running out of time and running out of places to look. If only he had listened closer to that conversation so many years ago. At this point, he was starting to wonder if it was real at all—perhaps it was a legend, like so many magical things. 

He had six days to figure this out. 

As Draco watched Hermione dance around the room saying her goodbyes, he could feel that knot of anxiety lessen just a tiny bit. 

He had six days to figure this out. And he would start again tomorrow morning. Tonight, he was going to spend every minute worshipping the beautiful witch who had captured his heart. 

\------------------------------------------------------------

It was Christmas Eve. 

It was Christmas Eve and Draco had not discovered the potion book. 

He had been so sure he would find it. The determination he had felt had taken on a life of its own and become all consuming. How could he have been so cocky? 

The chilly morning air kissed his cheeks as he stared out across the snowy hills. It hadn’t snowed in a few days so the grounds were more slushy than glittering. Still, the cold air smelled like Christmas and Draco needed to take a moment to recentre himself. 

Draco pulled a small box from his pocket and flipped open the top. The beautiful pink diamond glimmered and sparkled with the rising sun. Draco had spotted the beautiful ring in the glowing window of a small jeweler in France. The soft, crystal pink reminded him so much of Hermione’s pure and gentle heart. He had fallen fast — they had only kissed two months before he spotted the jewel, but Draco knew she was the one and the ring called out to him like a beacon. He had been holding onto it for nine months. There had been many times that he ardently wanted to ask; to slip the beautiful reminder of his devotion to her on her lithe finger. But Draco wanted the moment to be flawless and perfect. He wanted his mother to be there. He wanted the room thick with the love that only Christmas morning could bring. 

He snapped the lid closed and placed the ring back into his pocket. He had told Hermione to not come by today, which she agreed to easily since she always spent Christmas Eve at The Burrow anyway. Today was his last chance. There was one place he hadn’t looked, and in retrospect, he probably should have looked there first. 

His father’s study. 

After Lucius had been carted off to Azkaban, sentenced with the Dementors kiss, Draco literally boarded up his father’s study and vowed to never enter again. When he was a boy, being summoned into his father’s study was an accomplishment. His father, strong and intimidating behind the tall wooden desk, looked like a god. Draco wanted to impress him so badly it hurt, and each time his father allowed Draco’s presence in his world, he felt he was one step closer to becoming the man he admired. 

Now, it was a painful reminder of horrific and terrifying times. His father had been cruel and pathetic, and Draco wanted nothing more than to distance himself from any semblance of him. Boarding up Lucius’s study was his own figurative way of closing off that time in his life. 

However, a simple glance at his forearm reminded Draco that he could never fully escape his cowardly past. 

After hauling himself back inside, Draco stood in front of the ugly, clumsily boarded doorway. He slowly started to pull each slab of wood away, hating himself for wasting so much precious time. As he pushed the door open, he felt the dark magic wash over him. Waves and waves of darkness, wrapping him up in a blanket of despair. 

Stumbling forward he caught himself on the desk, taking a deep breath. He could do this. It had to be here — hidden within the depths of other dark books and artifacts. 

He started frantically pulling random books off the shelves, quickly discarding any that weren’t relevant. As the shelves became emptier, he became more distressed. Suddenly he was destroying things. His wand swished and eyes blazed with fury, and tears, and hate. He felt it boiling over. The anger that his mother had to pay the price for their mistakes. That he couldn’t help her then, and he couldn’t help her now. The desk split in half, wooden shards raining down. Books exploded, sheets of paper floating around in the crackling energy of the room.    
  
Draco sank to his knees. Heavy sobs wracked his body. He could see his mother so clearly; elegant smiles at Christmas, warm hugs, and hot chocolate, and snowy nights. Her cold, frail hand in his as she took her final breath. He cradled his head in his arms and pulled his hair until his scalp burned; the physical pain echoing the pain in his heart. 

The energy shifted in the room and everything went quiet. Something warm covered Draco like a comforting blanket. Glancing up, Draco noticed a small shimmer at the very top of a corner shelf. Without saying a word, the object fell from its perch, almost like a strange force had pushed it. It landed with a soft thunk. 

On his hands and knees, Draco crawled over to its landing place. 

It was a book. A small, purple book. 

Gently picking it up, he gasped. The book was titled  _ Potions for Desperate Hearts. _

This had to be it. It had been right here the entire time. Draco cursed himself for not coming here sooner and silently hoped it could be brewed quickly with simple ingredients. 

He gingerly flipped open the cover, his fingers danced lightly down the page, searching for the potion he needed. 

_ Reunification- Page 76.  _

Turning to the proper page, Draco felt a sudden surge of joy. 

_ Reunification: Drink and your loved one will return for you.  _

Draco couldn't believe his luck as he absorbed the information. The potion was simple, eerily simple and could be made with standard ingredients; with the additional inclusion of something personal of his mothers. Closing his eyes, he could picture the elegant silver hairpin, lined with tiny emeralds that she so often used to pin back her gentle waves. It was perfect. 

This was better than anything he could have hoped for. 

He would drink it tonight. 

He would drink it tonight and have time to bask in the euphoria of his mother’s presence before tomorrow morning. 

Tomorrow morning he would get the second chance he always hoped for— and the future had never looked more beautiful. 

\------------------------------------------------------------

It was nearing midnight, and the potion had just changed to the proper color and texture, spirals curling in perfect figure eights. Giving it one more gentle stir, Draco carefully scooped the perfect amount into a small glass vial. 

Everything had to be just right. Much to Draco’s dismay, it wasn’t snowing outside but the moonlight reflected enough off of the slushy grounds to create a beautiful scene through the manor windows. The record player sang the starting notes to “White Christmas”, and Draco made certain the elves were on standby to bring fresh hot chocolate to the living room. He placed the engagement ring perfectly on the tree, the box topped with a beautiful green ribbon, making it easy for Hermione to spot in the morning. 

Taking a deep breath, he sat in his favorite armchair. Draco hesitated for just a moment. He knew the potion was brewed perfectly, but there was always that small voice of insecurity that whispered in his ears.    
  
He silenced it with a quick tip of the vial. The potion washed over his tongue, tasting sweet and sticky. Draco closed his eyes, and he could see clearly the hand of his mother reaching out for him. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione walked quickly from the gates up to the front door of the manor. She was elated. She had found the perfect Christmas gift for Draco. 

She also had a small inkling that Draco was going to propose this morning. 

Feeling giddy and anxious, she knocked on the front door. It was early, the sun having just risen over the beautiful hills, but she couldn’t wait another moment. Christmas was her absolute favorite holiday. Hermione also knew that this would be Draco’s first Christmas without Narcissa, and the sooner she could wrap him in her arms the better. 

When no one answered, Hermione slowly opened the door. The air was still. She figured Draco must still be sleeping. She glanced to her right and saw the beautiful tree through the archways leading into the drawing room. The beautiful twinkling lights beckoning her to come closer. 

She crept silently into the drawing room and noticed the small box centered on the tree, wrapped in a green ribbon. She reached out and ran her fingers over the top and smiled. She needed to wake Draco up immediately and find out what beautiful treasure lived in that box. 

Turning to dash upstairs, something caught her eye in the far corner of the drawing room.

Draco was sleeping in his favorite armchair. 

Hermione giggled as she crossed the room to wake him. She stopped in her tracks, the coiling smoke from a bubbling cauldron catching her attention. Her brows pulled together as she realized the same few notes of "White Christmas" had been repeating on the record player since she entered the room.

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach and Hermione sprinted to Draco, hands shaking as she clutched his face.

“Draco! Draco, wake up!  _ Please _ , Draco  _ wake up! _ ” 

He was as cold as ice. He wasn’t responding. 

Tears sprung from her eyes as Hermione scrambled over to the cauldron. She grabbed the open book, eyes darting over the potion instructions. Slowly, reluctantly she began to put the pieces together.

“Oh Draco, what have you done?” She sobbed. 

Hermione knew before she read the entire page that this book was a trick. There was no way to reunite with the deceased whilst still living. Draco had unintentionally brewed a suicide potion. 

The book fell from her shaking hands and as she stumbled backwards, Hermione was hit with a sudden wave of realisation. She could see it all—she could see what he had been attempting. The ring, the proposal...sharing this wonderful moment together with his mother. Why hadn’t he come to her? She could have helped. She  _ would _ have helped. She would have contacted Harry and asked about the resurrection stone. She would never have told Draco ‘no’...

Blinded by grief, Hermione aimed her wand at the twinkling tree and with a strangled “ _ bombarda”,  _ the beautiful symbol of Christmas exploded; the prettily wrapped ring box lost somewhere in the destruction. Like the tree, Hermione’s heart splintered then shattered into millions of tiny pieces. She could feel the fragments aimlessly swirling around her chest, a snowstorm of broken dreams. 

Lurching forward, Hermione collapsed onto Draco’s cold body. Wails and sobs accompanied the eerie broken melody coming from the record player. 

_ I’m dreaming… _

_ I’m dreaming… _

Outside, it was snowing. 

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER TAGS:
> 
> Suicide  
> Accidental Suicide  
> Potions Accident


End file.
